


You Can Touch

by threewalls



Series: Schirra [24]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 704 OV, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Rabanastre, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-23
Updated: 2008-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running away is better with two than with one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



> Written for lynndyre, and the prompt: Balthier & Fran, yellow-green.

They stagger into Rabanastre's outskirts with the dawn merchant trains, the Strahl locked, anchored and invisible over the placid Estersands. They find one of Nono's brothers by the gate, and follow him into the city proper.

It's still cool enough that their cloaks are but a minor annoyance. Fran has a scarf wrapped over her head, bending down her ears. Balthier hates that, hates that it's his name that has done this to her. Zecht's replacement is more practical than Balthier would have given him credit for. There's a bounty on his head now, and a lizard with a chain-saw eager to collect. Lizards.

Another of Nono's brothers owns a Clan hall, and they have accommodations for travellers. The room has only one window, long and tall, but one in a bank of identical windows facing out into the northern plaza, several stories up. Balthier pulls the thick curtains across, and they block out the growing heat of the sun.

Cloaks on the floor, sandals clattering, then her armour piece by piece, and his belts. Balthier sits on the bed to strip out of his trousers, wincing when something catches or pulls. Besides the sweeps of scab across their limbs, they've both got healing bruises, black and purple tingeing to yellow-green on his pale legs, a sickly khaki on hers. Fran needed her magic for offence. Balthier is picking up much stronger potions next time.

Fran takes off her helm, shakes loose her hair, and he has to touch her, stroke the proud, outstretched length of her ears.

He has energy enough for slow kissing, for curved hands carefully placed, and a half-hearted erection, but they've been awake for twenty-eight hours straight, running for the last twelve, hyped up on adrenaline and Haste. Fran is spooned in front of him, one knee bent. Balthier brushes a kiss to the back of her neck...

...and opens his eyes at the shock of finding them shut. The room is cooler now, shade not sunshine creeping around the curtains. He's half-undressed, but warm along the side against which Fran sleeps. Her head is on his pillow, and he can't not look and look.

If they're intimate in the Strahl, Fran will return from the shower to her bunk, not his, but portside, she usually just leaves. It's not personal, it's just Fran; he's seen her return from her portside wanderings with her hair still damp. Her hair isn't damp now, or at least is only where it's fallen too close to his mouth. Balthier coughs, spits, and reaches down for the edge of the sheet.

Fran makes a noise and slides a long, long leg over his, to match the arm already across his chest. She is all muscle and bone, pinning him as effectively as she does anything.

"Comfortable?" he asks, though if she's asleep, he has no desire to wake her. Fran's hand just curls tighter around his shoulder.

Balthier rests his hand on her back, the slow rise and fall lulling him back to sleep. The sheet stays where it is.


End file.
